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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029167">The Beast Inside</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vocal_implant/pseuds/vocal_implant'>vocal_implant</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Enemies and I (Band) - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anarchy, Anxiety, Depression, F/F, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Kidnapping, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Multi, Murder, NSFW, Necrophilia, No Means No, Rape, Recovery, Religion, Religion Kink, Sadism, Shameless Smut, Suicide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:42:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vocal_implant/pseuds/vocal_implant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>11 short stories based on songs from The Beast Inside by My Enemies and I.</p><p>This might get a bit fucked but I promise it's not as bad as the tags make it seem</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Perfect</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sean looked in the mirror at his pale skin. Why is he so thin? So ugly? He sees nothing but filth in the mirror. </p><p>And there's Chris. He's perfect. He's beautiful. And he's sadistic enough to tell Sean he's beautiful also. </p><p>Sean never felt suicidal but he never felt like being alive. The only way he felt anything was taking a familiar black thread and sewing his skin in stitches. The pain made him feel so alive. He was a waste of space but at least he felt it. He was never sad or angry unless Chris said those forsaken three words. Even then, that wasn't any determinable emotion, it was a hurricane of pain. </p><p>Chris came home to see Sean tying a pattern in the thread. He wanted to remember a time when his husband wasn't like this. A simpler time where every time they passed each other, someone would say those forsaken three words. When Sean said it, he meant it in his mind and body. There was another way Sean was able to feel but Chris realized he couldn't take care of Sean all the time. Originally the younger of the two was a painter. His art was the window into his mind until the accident. He tried to get Sean to paint again but he had no inspiration to create like he did. The only piece was a painting of their wedding picture but Sean replaced himself with his brother, Will. The only time Sean hadn't felt depressed was the day him and Chris burned that painting. It was the day Chris committed to staying even in the dark presence of Sean's depression and dysphoria. </p><p>Will would sometimes come to see his twin. On one such occasion he was able to make Sean cry for the first time in over a year. Will never knew about the painting but he always felt a sliver of jealousy for Sean. Chris was Will's boyfriend in college before they broke up so he could be with Sean. He was Sean's best man at the wedding and he was happy that Chris was happy but it pained him to see Chris in love with a corpse.</p><p>That's all Sean was now. A corpse. A shell of his former, artistic and energetic self. He hardly slept, plagued by nightmares he refused to speak of and only ate when Chris reminded him to. Chris would sit next him as Sean would sew at his skin. The little bit of affection he showed for Chris was leaning on him whenever he worked, sometimes sitting in his lap like old times. The special days, they would have sex where Chris would reveal his true sadism in hopes to satisfy his lover which he often did. It were those special nights Sean was show something back. He was truly affectionate, kissing Chris, calling him perfect but Chris knew he couldn't return any of those compliments unless he wanted the interval between the next time they would have this to exponentially increase. </p><p>He learned that was Sean's obsession. That Chris was perfect. He was depressed because Chris was so perfect and he would never amount to anything compared to Chris. Eventually Chris knew when some days were special and he would act accordingly. Until that special day landed on Sean's birthday. Funny to think after six years of this cycle, this is the first time the two events lined up. This was the day Chris finally had enough having to stay quiet. </p><p>He went to work like always but today, he wasn't going to work. He was going to the paint shop and picked up colors he knew Sean liked. He also bought two canvases and two stands. He drove to the cliffs by the beach and set up the stands with the canvases. He returned home early, seeing Sean was already showing he was in a "good mood" today. So Chris was gentle. He hugged Sean from behind and kissed the side of his neck, lightly nibbling on the small tattoo behind Sean's ear. He went into Sean's studio and took the buckets of brushes and pallets before saying he would be on a quick errand.</p><p>Sean tapped his fingers against the spot where Chris kissed his neck. He always did that when he was planning something. He took his scissors and removed all the thread in his arms, the pain slightly turning him on but not enough to warrant anything. He took a shower and opted to put on Chris' Skold shirt with a pair of black jeans. Sean felt something foreign as he looked in this mirror. It wasn't really new but Sean could no longer place the feeling after six years of very little emotion. He took his trusty needle and stabbed it through his lip, a light scar from his previous piercing as his only guide. He finally put in the surgical steel ring and screwed the little ball in. He finally knew the feeling. He felt like himself. His stretched ears had shrunk down but he was able to find an old pair of silicon retainer tunnels from when he was first stretching his ears. 2g really isn't that big but five years with nothing can close up your ears quite well. He looked in the mirror as Chris came in to see him relaxed. He couldn't even hold himself back, embracing his husband. Sean hugged him back, being wrapped in Chris' smell. </p><p>Not a word was exchanged as he lead Sean to the car. The drove to the cliffs where Sean saw two chair with two canvases. Tears brimmed at his eyes before he looked at his lover. They sat down as the sun began it's decent with at least four hours until it would set, Chris painting the sea and Sean painting Chris. He always hated artists who made it their trademark of sunsets and skylines. Not to say the sky wasn't beautiful but Sean had seen so many variations of the same painting it became sickening. He painting was completely different from any natural scenery. 

Chris sat on a throne completely in the nude but adorned with jewelry and a silver crown. His throne room was draped in black and red banners and silver detailing contrasted against marble columns. In Chris' hand was a silver chain leading to the collar of a man sitting on the steps up to the throne. Chris stood behind Sean, kissing along his shoulders as he painted himself down to the detail of his tattoos and scars. While it would likely go unnoticed, Sean even included the steel bar that pierced the base of his penis. Chris took everything in from how he was portrayed as almost a god to the way Sean seemed to worship him, his half-lidded gaze centered on Chris' painted crotch.</p><p>"What should I call it?" Sean gently asked, leaning into Chris's touch.</p><p>Chris paused for a moment before his eyes returned to a scars on the god, "The Perfect Slave and a Flawed God."</p><p>"Interesting," he turned to look at his lover. "I like it."</p><p>"I love it and I know we haven't said it in so long but, Sean Cerulli, I love you," he spoke the forsaken three words.</p><p>Sean let out a sigh and kissed Chris, "I love you too, my perfect god."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I couldn't bring myself to give this shit a bad ending</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Funeral Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And so it begin to escalate</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He looked so pretty with those pale lips. So cold. Funny how he's in my morgue with no one to come to his funeral. Guess I can get away with some fun. I think the first time I realized I was a necrophiliac was the day I found that girl with her neck broken. She was almost as beautiful as the man before me but I find slit throats to be hotter than broken necks. He was reasonably tall with caramel skin, brown eyes and good muscles. Maybe I'd even have sex with him if he was alive. Even thinking about his body made me wet. I heard a knock on the door before Natalie came in with some files and supplies.</p><p>"Hey, Jack, there's another one for you tomorrow. Liam wanted me to let you know," she set down two files.</p><p>"Thanks, Nat. You can leave early if you want, I know it's Friday," I plastered a fake smile on my face.</p><p>"You sure?"</p><p>"Yeah, I'll be fine here. This guy is almost done anyways, have the night off."</p><p>"Thanks. See you tomorrow, then," she nodded.</p><p>"Yep. Bye," I waved her off and locked the door. </p><p>I looked at a thin file for Jorel Fischer. Half Korean I see. No religious requirements. Perfect. I might keep this one for a few days.</p><p>I looked out the window until I saw Natalie drive off then I shut the blinds. I turned off the lights, the room becoming a dark red with light strips I had around the ceiling. A mortician can give their morgue some personality, I personally like working with some color and it doesn't violate health and safety regulations. </p><p>Most of Jorel had been prepped, I hadn't taken out his eyes but his mouth was wired and organs were removed. That's the one downside of corpses, they don't cum. It's the only reason I occasionally settle for a one night stand with someone living. I'm truly intersex and by some miracle, fertile, but I had my tubes tied as soon as I could could sign the documents. My parents named me Jack cause they agreed I was a boy. I was made fun of for having a penis and a vagina and I had larger breasts but I was never ashamed of it. Once I turned 18, I had two surgeries and never looked back. Flat chest and all, I was ready to take on the world. That's how I even discovered my own sexuality. I realized I would take it all as long as they're dead. I no longer felt shame even if I killed them myself. </p><p>I removed the tarp from Jorel's body and my decision of the day. With everything, I try to be as precise as possible but by no means would I let planned precision ruin my night. I'm going to ride a corpse and no one in any of the nine circles of hell is going to stop me. </p><p>I undid my pants, completely removing them and my boxers. He was pretty hot. I removed my jacket coat also and straddled the body on the table. I had already sewn his throat back together but it wasn't covered leaving one more thing to increase his sex appeal. So cold. So fucking dead. I grasped his surprisingly firm cock in my hand and jerked off the still corpse along with myself. Grinding down on such a body was rare, to still be fit like this even more so. I got up to get a small tube of lubricant from a drawer, putting a little on my gloved fingers and stroking his dick. I leaned back over him and pushed the length into me. I swallowed, relaxing and feeling up his abs. My eyes were closed as I lightly bounced on his waist, getting some movement. I wrapped my hand around my cock and jerked myself off. Sweat rolled own my hips as I felt myself coming closer to my orgasm.</p><p>I stopped thinking of time as I edged myself to finally cum. My body lightly convulsed as I rode out my orgasm. I rested on the body for a short time before getting up and leaning against the cabinet to come down from my high. I let out a sigh and cleaned myself up, putting my boxers and pants back on. Closing my eyes, I finally relaxed, getting back to work and finishing his body. Preservation work was done and I'll paint his face tomorrow before I have the other guy. </p><p>Aurelia opened the door as I came home and greeted me with a kiss. </p><p>"Hey, baby, how was work?" she asked as I took off my coat and shoes.</p><p>"Good, really good," I kissed her cheek.</p><p>"Anything special?"</p><p>"Not much but I'm gonna go in early tomorrow to finish some paint work."</p><p>"Good, guess I'm not the only one working a saturday. How's pizza and a movie tonight?"</p><p>"Perfect. I'm gonna go take a shower first."</p><p>"Okay. Have I ever told you how fucking awesome of a spouse you are?"</p><p>"Maybe once or twice. Have I ever told you how awesome of a wife you are?"</p><p>"Maybe once or twice," she hummed. "Now go shower, you smell like death."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>short and this was probably the lamest smut I've ever written but  hope you still enjoyed it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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